Hair
No, not the musical.
Hair.
On top of your head.
Fact of the matter is, my hair is the longest it’s ever been, past my shoulders, but not quite a breast level. This is brilliant, as I can hide behind it in lectures, tie it up when it’s a mess or it’s raining, use it as a weapon of seduction or flick it when I spinning round the pole.
But long hair isn’t me
There’s a reason I’ve always had short hair: because it suits me! I have to admit, I have been growing it purely because it looks good when I do the hair flicks when I’m on the pole, and I do think men prefer longer hair on women: why is that? Is it some relic of porn movies when men pull on longer hair? Or maybe it’s because it merely differentiates between the sexes, and subconsciously men pick up on that.
But it really isn’t me. Now I’m not saying I’m gonna cut it all off and have a pixie cut a la Victoria Beckham, but I was thinking more along the lines of the ‘pob’ but bright red. Because that is me.
Sod whether I can or can’t do hair flicks on the pole, I can do much better stuff. And let’s face it, if men prefer women with longer hair then that’s just a silly preference. Surely (dare I say such a cliched saying?) a good personality is better? I will have a hair cut for me, and hopefully it’ll show my personality in it, which is a rather good part of me.
Courtesy of those lovely girls at Suicide Girls. This pretty much sums up what I want!
Girl with a one track mind
My friend J who I have mentioned previously have patched up our friendship of late, and seem to be back to the way things were when she was an independent woman and not under the thumb of her controlling, possessive, jealous ogre of a boyfriend. Ok, so she’s still with him, but nobody’s perfect. Anywho, she gave me the book of the above title the other day. Now being a student with hardly any time to myself I doubted I’d have chance to read it, but I can’t put it down! It’s pretty damn good. I may review it when I’ve read it, even though the majority of the U.K. population have probably read it already!
Onto MEN. Yes, real men, not boys. Well, boys are included in this topic, only to point out how inferior they are to MEN.
Guy is being….well, a guy. After bumping into him purely accidentally at the weekend, he suggested we be friends, start at the beginning and see how it goes. I was dubious to be honest. Friends is fine, I hate making enemies out of something as trivial as a break-up, but what if we discovered AGAIN that we are incompatible? Anywho, he invited me out to lunch earlier this week. It went fine (I turned up late. I recommend this trick to any woman, as the man will look relieved when you turn up to find you haven’t stood him up, even if you are just ‘friends’), and at the end I casually said that we should do lunch again some time, expecting him to just reply with a half-hearted ‘yeah, ok’. Nope, instead he said ‘how about Friday?’ Wow. Unexpected. But not jumping ahead of myself here, just because he said he wanted to see me so soon afterwards means nothing at all in a man’s/boy’s mind.
Progress on the Spaniad front is slow. I have seen him every day this week, and every day i have swooned and gone jelloid and blushed like a schoolgirl I expect.
Students: A different species
I seem to notice a recurring trend throughout the male students I seem to fall for: they always come up with the ‘I’m so busy, I can’t give you the time you deserve’ phrase/excuse.
I know you may all think I’m crazy, but last week Guy told me he still felt the same way about me, and that we should give it a go, a proper go. He offered to take me out for a meal, and we did. The night was brilliant, I was really happy, actually, I had good fun. He seemed really happy too, wanting to know when he could see me next. So we parted having a nice night, good food, him meeting my housemates and getting on with them. And then nothing. Until four days later when he stopped things dead with a text message, with the excuse I mentioned above.
It’s annoying to say the least, for him to go to so much effort, for him to just have a freak out over his work load and do that. But…not really bothered :S yeah, it sucks, cause he doesn’t even want to be friends now, but I can’t be doing with people who have Barry Syndrome. If he comes to his senses and wants to be friends again, then fine, but apart from that, life carries on as normal.
So….continuing on the students theme. If I’ve had two (sort of) boyfriends who use this excuse (or as one of them) is there any point in pursuing another student? To be more precise, a PhD student? Cause they are a certain breed of student, always working, and most likely to throw me that line of reasoning for not forming any type of relationship. He is very cute though. I think I’ve developed a thing for foreigners, as he is Spanish. Normally I can go up to guys and just generally say ‘hi, how are you?’ (a la Johnny and Guy) but he has a presence, and is super intelligent, so I tend to go a tad jellyoid around him.
*Sigh* We shall see….
It’s been a while…I shouldn’t have left you..
Apologises! I have been enjoying Freshers week once more, and of course, the flu that come with it (perhaps not enjoying that so much!) But I have returned to you (on a brand new shiny computer, no less) with an offering that i hope you will all enjoy, and forgive me for being away 
I have that little black dress on that you like so much, as it shows of every curve of my body, and you have been looking at me with lust in your eyes all night. When another man came up to talk to me at the bar, you made it very clear I belonged to you: you didn’t hold back, as you twirled me round to face you and placed a deep, lingering kiss on my mouth. I wasn’t interested in the other man, but that streak of jealousy seemed to create a sense of urgency in us both, to re-affirm the fact that we belonged to each other. We made our excuses and left to get a taxi home.
You helped me into the taxi, like a proper gentleman, and followed me to sit down beside me. We decided on my place, as it is nearer. I gave the driver the address and he pulled away suddenly, the jolt causing you to lurch towards me. Your hand brushed across my breast. You went to pull yourself away, but our eyes locked and I felt a hot surge through my body. I reached out to stop you moving and pulled you closer. Our lips met and a soft kiss soon melted into something more passionate.
You suck on my lower lip, bringing the blood to the surface. As you release my lip, it tingles, and I lick it with the tip of my tongue to ease the sensitivity. My lips now glistens, tempting you to lean in once more and taste my mouth, parting my lips with your tongue, to delve into my warm and inviting mouth, to entwine your tongue with mine. Now it is my turn to play with you, and as I finish the kiss I nibble on your bottom lip. You bring your hand up to you mouth to touch where my mouth was just, but there is not a look of shock in your eyes: the look of lust is still there. You give a quick glance at the driver, who seems to have taken an added interest on the road ahead, rather than his rear-view mirror.
You stroke your fingertips over my full lips, red the attention you gave them. I enclose your hand in mine and gently kiss the tip of your fore finger. I take a little more of it into my mouth, sucking on the tip gently. Then you push the entire length of your finger into my mouth. You gasp as you do so, as I look at you through the lengths of my eyelashes, you are transfixed on my mouth, as it works my magic on you: I swirl my tongue around the base of your finger, and move my mouth up to your knuckles, pausing at each one to give another swirl of my tongue.
Your breathing has quickened, as I know you are thinking about how that will feel on your cock when we get home.
‘Tell me that you’re mine’ you ask, as part my lips with your thumb, your mouth inches away from mine, ‘say it’.
‘I’m yours, my love’. I barely finish the sentence and your mouth is pressed against mine, your hand gripping the base of my head, and the other snaking up my leg towards the hemline of my dress.
The finger that I was paying so much attention to earlier find its way to the edge of my lingerie. You push it to one side, and run your finger up the length of my opening, discovering just how wet I am. I shudder at your touch, for it has been so long since anyone has touched me intimately, as I belong only to you.
Your fingertips circle my clit slowly, causing my breathing to quicken.
‘My love, you are teasing me. Please, please, make me come’ I whisper.
‘Not yet, I want to make you so wet that you are dripping’
‘Oh, no, please, make me come!’
You answer my request by plunging two fingers into my pussy, with your thumb remaining on my clit, circling as you push your fingers deeper into my pussy. I try not to scream, burying my head in your shoulder as I buck against your hand. You bite into my neck, leaving your mark on me. I come, with wave after wave of pleasure, gripping your fingers inside of me, dripping down your hand.
You withdraw and bring your fingers up to my mouth.
‘Lick it’ you request. I oblige. I lick every inch of you, and make sure I get over bit of me in the process. Again, my mouth mesmerizes you, and the promise of what is to come.
We arrive at my house, as you help me out of the car. You pay the driver generously, who hardly utters a word and avoids eye contact. I lead you inside, as the evening is only just beginning…
